Family Plots
by Othnieltcs
Summary: Two sisters are given very different paths. Will they ever see each other again?
1. 1: Marta

Gierta Craghew's deep brown eyes surveyed the field of battle with great anticipation. The Humans had finally thrown the Orcish Horde back from the very gates of Lordaeron, and the Horde was retreating to the south as fast as it could. Her own people's lands had been overrun months ago, but a mighty army had been trapped in the fortress-city of Ironforge, awaiting just such an opportunity as this.

"Cha-a-a-arge!" With that un-ladylike bellow, Gierta scampered down the hill, her long black hair flying behind her, and knocked the Orc onto the ground, whacking it with her stick.

"Ow!" The Orc threw up its hands to shield its face. "Not so _hard_, Gierta!"

"Don't be a sissy."

"Gierta," said the Holy Light (who was _supposed_ to be on _her_ side), "if you don't learn to play nice _you're_ going to be the Orc."

"Noooooo, Marta!" Girt burst into tears.

"Geeert, don't..."

"I don't _wanna_ be the Orc!" Gierta sobbed.

"Don't worry, Girt." Bardin took his distressed friend's hand. "I'll still be the Orc." Gierta sniffled as if in reply.

"Bard!" Marta folded her arms and did her best imitation of her mother's glare.

"What? Didn't hurt _that_ much." A large purplish bruise threatened to swell his left eye shut.

Marta scowled at both of the young children. "If Gierta beats you to death, Bard, it won't be _you_ my mama will blame." And it _surely_ won't be Girt, she didn't say aloud.

Bardin pouted. "I'll be ok. I'm tough!"

Girt kissed him on the cheek, tearful theatrics gone and forgotten. Marta just sighed and went back to gathering and sorting her herbs and flowers, humming a little tune to herself. She really should not let her six-year-old sister get away with such things, no matter how much younger she was.

She could not bring herself to approve of this game little Gierta insisted on playing, even though all the little ones had been playing much the same thing in the six years since the war had been truly over. Internment camps had been built all over Lordaeron for the defeated Orcs to be kept in. Sometimes she heard grumblings about the trouble and expense of the camps, and that the Orcs should all just be killed. The idea horrified Marta, though. No one mentioned such opinions around her without getting the sharp side of her tongue right quick. Just because she was only sixteen was no reason for her to keep silent at such folly and cruelty.

Two Internment camps were quite close to Dun Garok. Papa often made deliveries to both locations, and once Marta had even gone with him to Durnholde Keep (the safer of the two - papa would _never_ have let her go to Lordamere with him). She'd managed to slip off and actually speak with one of the prisoners. It talked to her of curses and Demons and a place called Draenor - things she really didn't understand at all. But she could see the pain in the Orc's eyes clear as day. The creature had actually thanked her for talking to it! And it wept so bitterly when an angry guard snatched her away, her heart clenched every time she thought of it. For weeks afterward she would break down in tears herself when she remembered the hopelessness in the Orc's voice. Her parents would ask what was bothering her, but of course she never explained. They had always shaken their heads and sighed over what a sensitive girl she was anyway.

Dun Garok was still a new town being dug into the foothills roughly halfway between the mighty city of Stromgarde to the east and the quiet fishing village of Southshore to the west. Those were both Human settlements, and Dwarves had been content to leave these lands alone in the past, before the Alliance and the Explorers' League had changed everything.

On the way home Marta spied papa's good friend Bradoff in the distance and stopped, eying the outcropping of rocks that could possibly be used to slip around him unseen. It was not that Marta disliked the Dwarf, not exactly, but he did have a way of making her uncomfortable at times. Especially when her father was not around. Before she could use the escape route, however, Gierta had snatched her hand out of Marta's grasp and was running up to him.

"Uncle Bradoff!"

He turned and gave Gierta a great booming shout. "C'mere, ye brat!" Little Girt screamed and laughed as she turned to try to run away, but Bradoff scooped her up in his arms. "Marta help!" Gierta giggled and squirmed. Marta's Dwarven bosom heaved a sigh as she joined them.

"Well, well, the young Craghew women both!" He tossed Gierta in the air while she squealed with delight, catching her easily. "To what do I owe this honor, now?"

"Hi there, Uncle Bradoff. Just heading home, we were."

"Ah, the little one looks more like yer brother every day, Light preserve his soul." He gave Girt another toss, but Marta bowed her head at the mention of her dead brother.

"And you," Bradoff continued, "growin' into the very picture of yer mum, I'll swear!"

Marta smiled shyly, murmuring the usual denials.

"Oh nonsense, me dearie. Ye already have every boy within ten miles askin' about ye day and night. 'Now where's that Marta Craghew, have ye seen her?' 'Brad, do ye think Marta will like these flowers here?'"

"Oh, _stop_..." Marta muttered, playing with her long blonde braid.

"Why, ye look just like yer mum did on her weddin' day, with those big blue eyes an' rosy cheeks...aye, _there_ was a day ol' Dirrik can honestly say every Dwarf in Dun Garok was a wee bit jealous of him, and no few in Ironforge itself, for that matter..."

"Eeeew," Gierta said, scrunching up her face. "I'm _never_ gonna get married."

"Now, Uncle Brad, much more talk o' _that_ sort and papa's likely t'be chasin' ye around town with his hammer!" Marta grinned to take the edge off her words, but she did _not_ like the gleam that came into "Uncle" Brad's eye sometimes when he looked at her. "Besides, it's time I was off. These herbs need to go in Mama's cupboard, and..."

"Ah, yer famous herb basket! That reminds me, sweetie. Me wife's feelin' a bit under the weather. Any chance you'll be stoppin' by a bit later?"

It was not an unusual request. In fact, Marta had been improving her skill with herbs so much lately that many in Dun Garok were starting to say that perhaps they had no need of the replacement medic from Ironforge, who had been "on the way" for nearly a year now. The original one had died before even taking on an apprentice. But Marta still felt a bit uneasy. "I'll try, but I'm afraid I may be a bit behind on chores. Perhaps mum can."

It was almost dark when they returned home, Marta's basket nearly bursting with all the plants she'd collected. Papa actually let her keep about half of the money she'd make from visiting people and selling the herbs off to traveling merchants. She always had them meticulously bundled and tagged. "Mama, we're home!"

Marta frowned as she realized how quiet it was. Usually the hiss of forge-fires and the pounding of hammers from papa and his apprentices were enough to give her a bit of a headache.

She opened the back door of their home and hesitated, automatically holding out an arm to block her little sister from rushing in. "Shush, Girt," she said as the child began to whine. Little Gierta paid no attention whatsoever, and squirmed past Marta's arm, dashing into the house with a squeal of triumph. Marta rubbed her eyes. The little brat was getting too strong for her own good.

As if to punctuate her thought, a shouted "No!" came from inside the house, and Marta could hear her sister begin to cry. "Gierta!" The elder sister dashed inside, raising her basket of herbs over her shoulder like a weapon.

The first thing she noticed once inside, oddly, was a Human in the kitchen. He was sitting at their table, though he probably would have been more comfortable standing since his knees were almost in his chest. She gave a startled scream as her eyes fell on him, before she realized that he did not look even the least bit threatening.

Mama rose from her usual seat, unharmed though a bit worried. "What is wrong, dear? Are ye all right?" Only after her mother spoke did Marta look around the other direction and see Gierta, squirming unhappily but safe in Papa's huge arms. "Not this time, kiddo," Papa said to her. "Off to yer room with ye." With that he carried her down the stairs despite considerable protest.

"So," the Human at the table suddenly grinned at her. "This is the sweet, gentle Marta I've been hearing about all over Dun Garok?"

Marta felt the room grow quite warm as she glanced over at her right hand, still raised with her herb basket ready to wallop someone. Below her, and trailing behind her toward the door, dribbled those herbs and flowers she had so painstakingly gathered and categorically wrapped. Blessed Light, her first encounter with a Human, and now they all think of her as a clumsy oaf! "Begapardun," she hastily mumbled, and flopped to her knees to scoop up the herbs from the floor, her face growing warmer by the moment.

"Now, now, Marta dear, we'll worry about that later, aye? Come have a seat now."

Marta dutifully obeyed her mother, too embarrassed to even look at their guest. As they waited for Papa, though, she couldn't help asking her mother about what was on her mind in a small, soft voice. "Is there trouble, mother? Orcs...?"

"What's this about Orcs?" Her father's voice boomed behind her, making everyone at the table jump, even the Human.

"Oh nothing, love. Young Marta's just worried, poor thing. Sit ye down, Dirrik. Now, Marta, this man is Jarl. His business here is serious, no doubt, but not in a bad way..."

"Fer the love o' sweet iron, Annie, let the man speak for himself."

The Human smiled and nodded graciously at Mama's murmured apology. "Good evening, Marta Craghew," he began. "As your mother kindly mentioned, my name is Jarl."

Marta looked around the table in disbelief. The Human was addressing _her_? Why? She was not normally shy, but confusion made her naturally soft voice sound just that. "Pleased t'meet ye, m'lord Jarl."

His chuckle was self-deprecating - not at all what she would have expected from a Human. Humans, she had been taught, were always reckless and overly confident to the point of sheer rudeness. "Oh," Jarl went on, "I am no Lord or even Paladin, young Marta. We of the priesthood consider ourselves as intimately connected to the people we serve as family. Please, the only title I could possibly accept is 'Brother'."

"Ah! Forgive me, Brother Jarl." Her voice was getting stronger now. The distant sound of little Gierta pounding on her door and screaming for attention brought a much-needed sense of normalcy to the conversation. She glanced back and forth again between her Mama and Papa, both being as quiet and meek as mice. _That_ was definitely not normal. What was going on here? "I did not mean to offend," she continued, "but we Dwarves have no Priests, or even Paladins, and are unaccustomed to dealing with such."

Jarl smiled warmly. "No offense was taken, young Craghew. Indeed your people do not have Priests nor Paladins among you. That point, actually, brings us to the very heart of why I am here. But I am afraid we are getting ahead of ourselves."

"I do think you've lost me, sir...ah...Brother."

Brother Jarl nodded. "The beginning, yes." He took a deep breath, steepling his fingers and peering over them into Marta's eyes. "A year or so ago, as the War drew to an end, Uther the Lightbringer began to turn his thoughts to the rebuilding of Stormwind and the healing of all the lands that had participated in the Alliance of Lordaeron." As he spoke, Marta realized she was leaning over the table herself, resting her chin in folded hands. She distantly wondered if she was under some kind of hypnotic spell, but as Jarl continued the thought was lost to her.

"The priesthood of Stormwind had been almost completely annihilated during the struggle in which the city fell, what those from the south call the First War. Upon the creation of the Alliance, most of Lordaeron's priests joined Lord Uther's Order of the Silver Hand.

"This was necessary for the war, of course, but Lord Uther was concerned about the hole that was left in the societies of both Lordaeron and Stormwind. So it was that Lord Uther met with the Archbishop of Stormwind, Alonsus Faol, to rebuild the Priesthood."

"If ye please," Marta piped up, "I am sure that this is very important information for those in yer great cities, but I have to say I do no see what this has to do with us here in Dun Garok."

"Why, nothing." Jarl could not help chuckling at the look on Marta's face when she heard that response. "Nothing, that is, if not for a chance conversation, not long after the plans were laid for the new priesthood. A conversation between Archbishop Faol and a certain Brann Bronzebeard."

Marta gasped. _There_ was a name she knew very well indeed, as did any Dwarf who lived. The youngest brother of King Magni Bronzebeard, it was Brann's boundless curiosity that had led to the discovery of a possible ancient link between the Dwarven people and those mystical Creators from legend and myth, the Titans. Without Brann's Explorer's League rising to prime importance in Dwarven society, Marta knew, there very likely would never have been a Dwarven settlement here in the midst of Human lands.

Jarl nodded at her gasp. "Indeed, young Marta. Upon hearing Brann's theories of Titanic Heritage, Archbishop Faol began to wonder if perhaps a Dwarf might not wield the Holy Light with as much valor and compassion as any Human. Or Elf, for that matter."

Marta's head spun. The Holy Light? In Dun Garok, and Dun Modr, and Thelsamaar, and...and Ironforge itself? She'd certainly heard the tales of miracles performed by the Paladins on the field of battle. They could heal any wound, so it was said, and even bring a dead soldier back to life!

"Brothers of the priesthood have been visiting among your people for months now, and all agree that the signs are promising for those Dwarves who are willing to learn. And so, Marta Craghew, we return at long last to exactly what I am doing here."

Mama clasped her hands, a smile of pure pride beaming through freely flowing tears. Papa harrrumphed and wheezed as he discreetly dabbed at his own eyes. Jarl rose to his feet, ducking his head to avoid the low ceiling, and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. But his eyes never left Marta's. "It is my great honor, Marta Craghew, to invite you to Lordaeron to be one of your people's first students ever in the ways of the Light."

Marta felt overwhelmed by the honor. Before her was a life she would never have dared dream of! Mama and Papa would worry, of course. That was what parents did, after all. But full of Humans or not, what safer place in all of Azeroth could there be than Lordaeron itself?


	2. 2: Gierta

Gierta hefted the new rifle, closing her left eye to test the sights down the barrel. The weight would take some getting used to, but the dormant fel energies of the corrupted iron ore found here in Outland were supposed to add power and accuracy to each shot. She heard a heavy footfall behind her, and swung the barrel 'round to face the newcomer.

"Ach!" The Dwarf behind her raised his hands in mock surrender. "A bit protective of yer 'workshop,' are ye?" His braided, bright red moustaches waggled as he smiled.

Gierta lowered her rifle with a wide grin as Kranulf studied the makeshift workshop. In truth it was little more than a tent set up behind the smithy at Honor Hold, with a "borrowed" bench and various tools and gadgets littering the floor. Kranulf eyed the bench suspiciously. "Isn't that the very bench the innkeep was making such a fuss about a few hours back?"

Gierta waved away the question, still grinning. "I'll be puttin' it back, Kran. Don't be givin' me one 'a' yer 'Holy Paladin' speeches, now."

Her friend grunted as he picked up what looked like a tiny mace with a string dangling from it. "You've been spendin' too much time with those Gnomes, Girt. What in the Light's name is this?"

She smiled slyly. "Pull that cord and they'll be scrapin' pieces of ye up over on the Legion Front."

Kran shook his head, his shaggy red beard waving back and forth. "Such a small thing to do so much damage." He had seen Girt's grenades (of different, old design) in action before. In a couple of tight spots, he'd actually used one or two himself. "It's just not right. Give me a good, sturdy hammer any day."

Gierta chuckled, her hair gathered behind her swinging as she snatched the grenade from him and stuffed it in her satchel. Kranulf couldn't help wincing at all the rough treatment she gave the explosives. "Ah well," said Gierta, "that's enough work for today, I suppose. Help me with this tent, Kran, and I'll buy ye a beer."

Kranulf sighed. He knew who'd be carrying that bench back to an angry innkeep.

She looked around at each of the faces she'd come to know so well. Kranulf, of course. She'd known him the longest by far; they'd first worked together investigating the Dragonmaw presence in the area around Menethil Harbor. The healing powers granted him by the Light had saved each one of their lives countless times. Girruk she met in the island-city of Theramore. His claims of having been a scout and spy for the Alliance armies under Lady Jaina Proudmoore during the Third War had never been verified. And the fact that he was rather handsome had nothing to do with her tendency to believe him, thank you very much. Karundin was already almost fully armored in this preliminary meeting. The time they spent looking into the Dark Iron activites in the Searing Gorge forged such a bond between them, they had been almost inseparable since. Often he and his sturdy shield had been all that stood in the way between the rest of them and total disaster. Galain, the only Human in the group, was still something of a mystery to her. Why he would forsake an undoubtedly easier life studying his magics in some secluded tower, she could not understand. Whenever Girt asked, though (which was fairly often), he just blathered on about "Arcane Rifts" and Demonic Echoes" and "Dwarven incompatibility with corrupting magics" until she begged him to stop. He was the newest member of their little group, which meant that Gierta and her friends had been depending on his potent spells and convenient portals for over six months now. It was a close-knit group, these fighters who called themselves "Gierta's Grunts." (If they had been aware of how common the standing of "grunt" was in the Horde, they may have chosen a different name. Then again, they may not have.) The name was not _her_ idea, but she had certainly never objected to the implication that she led this motley band.

"She's not smiling, 'Run." Girruk nudged the burly warrior with his elbow. "You know what _that_ means."

"Eh?" Karundin was not at all stupid, but he was not what one would call quick-witted either.

"Looks like our leaves were finally approved, Karundin." Galain had surprised everyone by how quickly he'd adapted to the endless ribbing the Dwarf boys gave each other. "It's just you and Kran trying to keep her alive this time out."

"Wha-at?"

Kranulf couldn't resist a chuckle. "Oh, is that all, Gal? For a moment I thought you meant this time would be _different_ somehow."

Even Girt had a good laugh at that one.

"Okay boys," Gierta began. "'Tis no secret the frontal assaults being launched at Hellfire Citadel have no been gettin' the Alliance anywhere at all."

"The word is, those Horde over in Thrallmar have no had better luck, either."

Gierta tried not to show it, but she really did hate the way Girruk always tried to upstage her. Especially when she hadn't known what he knew. "Commander Trollbane," she went on, "has been askin' for quick strike teams to try scoutin' out the place and findin' weaknesses in the Fel Orcs' defenses.

"Are you sure we're up to this, Gierta?" Galain was definitely the voice of caution in the group.

"Maybe not if the Ramparts hadn't been more or less cleared this mornin'..."

Gierta cleared her throat. "Aye, as Girruk says, someone was back on those Ramparts just this morning. So if we're going to take part in this, and not let some Elves or such take all the glory, now is the time. Besides, ol' Gunny told me that the Draenei over in that Temple of theirs are willing to lend us one of their priestesses."

Girruk frowned at that. He liked things he did not know even less than Gierta did. "Co-ordinating with them might be difficult."

"Gunny told me he'd arrange everything. I already had a rally point marked on his map, in case we were able to combine with some other teams. Unfortunately, most others have already made their own plans."

"So where is it?"

Gierta spread her own map out before them. "Right here, at sundown. Make yer own way there - if a Draenei priest can make it alone, so can any one of ye. Just don't be late."

All the boys crowded close to see where her finger was pointing, then nodded and began to leave her room. Gierta grabbed 'Run's arm as he started to leave.

"Almost forgot," she said, and dug around in her satchel until she had produced several of the grenades that Kranulf had been inspecting earlier.

"Ah, me 'tenderizers'!" Karundin loved the things so much he had his own name for them. "Yer a doll, Girt."

She gave him a smug smile. "I know."


	3. 3: Slaughter

Karundin checked the moon again. "Well, where _is_ this bloody Priestess?"

"I was told she would meet us here!" Gierta did not mean to shout.

"By a fellow in the Hold who talked to a fellow in the Temple...all this word-of-mouth stuff is too unreliable, Gierta. You should have insisted on meeting her beforehand."

"This _was_ beforehand, Girruk." Honestly, sometimes Gierta wondered why she kept him around. Memories of stolen kisses when no one else was looking colored her cheeks enough to want to think of something else.

Kranulf kicked at the dirt. "This does no feel right. She may need help."

"And she may have been reassigned," Galain replied dryly. Gierta nodded at that - she was very familiar with the whole "Something urgent has come up" routine. Galain continued: "I doubt the Temple would have sent out a priestess who cannot take care of herself."

Karundin sighed. "Or she could have lost her way, I suppose..."

Kranulf folded his arms. "We should look around for her."

"No, there's no time. Don't give me that look, Kran. By the time we complete our search, we would've been in and out of there. The night is no standing still, and I want to be done by daybreak."

That was Gierta's first mistake.

The entrance Girruk's scouting found was quite high in the structure. With all the confusion as the Fel Orcs moved to reinforce the Ramparts, however, he insisted it was the easiest entrance to get to at the moment. For a wonder, he was right and they were inside without any real trouble. Once there, Gierta knew that the most important thing they would be doing was mapping out what corridors they managed to explore. Therefore she entrusted the task of drawing the map to herself. Perhaps it would even prove a distraction from the feeling of dread that had been building in her since the Priestess hadn't arrived.

Girruk appeared by her side as if by magic, making her jump. "Patrol up ahead," he muttered. "A rather large one."

"Stop!" Karundin, in the lead of course, halted at once on Girt's command as she turned back to Girruk. "_How_ large?"

"At least ten, maybe more."

Ten, maybe _more_? That was indeed a large patrol, even for a military stronghold like this. She raised her special day-glo engineer's goggles to examine her map. "Gather 'round, boys." She nearly dropped the map twice as they all crowded around her, but she had long ago given up complaining about such jostling. At least they could hear without her having to raise her voice much above a whisper. "Right, now there was a turn-off to the left about two hundred yards back. That's where we'll go until this group passes. Unless, of course, we find something interesting down there." She grinned and gave Girruk a little wink. He chuckled and gave her a mock salute. "I'm on it."

"Remember, not _too_ far. This _is_ the main passageway here." This time he gave her an elaborate bow before slipping off ahead of them. That rogue could be quite insufferable at times!

Karundin took the lead again, with Kranulf close behind him. As much as they disliked leaving Gierta between themselves and a known group of enemies, she had proven herself the best rear guard among them too many times for them to argue. Sure enough, before they had gone five steps she softly called out, "Thirty seconds!" They picked up the pace a bit, and Karundin would have went right by the passageway if Girruk had not poked his head out from around the corner and waved them on.

"It gets wider up ahead," Girruk whispered as Girt passed by him, "but I think this might be a dead-end." Gierta stopped for a moment, frowning in thought, but now they could all hear the clank of the Fel Orcs' armored boots as the patrol approached. Finally she shook her head. "We'll have to take our chances with it. Make sure, will ye?" Girruk pounded his fist to his chest, this time not mocking, and hurried on ahead again.

They moved farther down the passageway to stay out of sight of the large group marching down the main hall and stopped. Within moments, Girruk was back at Gierta's side. "Definitely a dead-end, but we've got two or three of the beasts sitting there."

"Some sort of bunkroom?"

"Ewww, I hope not."

Gierta nodded, giving her favorite male a low, hearty chuckle. The mirth did not last long, however. "Do ye think the noise will carry out to the main passageway?"

Girruk shook his head immediately. "If it was a straight corrider there might be some risk o' that, but it's not. We can mop them up an' wait a bit in there."

"Aye. Well done, 'Ruk." She glanced around at the others, waiting on her word. "Let's do it."

The three Orcs sitting in their bunkroom had been so corrupted by Demonic bloodlust that their skin had become a bright, burning red. That angry tint in their skin was what made them Fel Orcs. A fourth Fel Orc lingered by the doorway, so still and quiet that it was hard for even the others to notice him.

One of the Orcs sat up from his reclining position. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure! They're here, I'm telling you!"

"Our report has them all the way on the other side of this level. What makes you think...?"

The speaker forgot what he was going to say as a small, cylindrical piece of metal came bouncing and rolling into the room. "What...?"

The explosion tossed them all into the air, two landing on their backs and one on his face. As they started to get up, a fully armored Dwarf rushed into the room at full speed, knocking both of the debaters back down on the ground. His shield came down to smash one of the Orcs in the face, and the Dwarf's other arm was bringing a jagged axe around to slice into the other Orc's shoulder. The third Fel Orc, not even taking time to grab a weapon, swatted at the attacker with its powerful arm, which the squat creature easily ducked. The injured Fel Orc kicked at the Dwarf intruder, who staggered backward.

But just as they had him off-balance, a second armored Dwarf rushed in, shining with a bright glow that hurt their eyes. He gripped his great hammer in both hands and smashed its head into the third Fel Orc's belly.

The Orc who had taken a shield to its face was finally back on its feet, just in time to look down and stare stupidly at a sword-point sticking out its chest. A third Dwarf had somehow crept in, it seemed. The Dwarf removed his sword, a smaller blade flashing in his left hand to slash the third Orc behind the knee. The Dwarf with the hammer smashed the Orc who had just been run through over the head with his hammer, and that Fel Orc went down. As a final insult, a she-Dwarf chose that exact moment to pop around the corner and raise the barrel of a rifle that was almost as big as she was. That was when the silent Fel Orc in the shadows decided to act.

Gierta had only taken two shots at the Fel Orcs in the room before everything suddenly went black for a moment. She was surprised to find herself facedown on the floor, and rolled onto her back to find a fourth Fel Orc, daggers in both hands, frozen in place by one of Galain's spells. He hurled a ball of fire at it as she watched, and then sent several bolts of magical energy in quick succession to pummel the Orc. By that time Girt was back on her feet, and her spear through the stealthy Orc's throat finished the job. Galain gave her a slight nod before they both turned their attention to the struggle in the room. There was only one Fel Orc still standing under Karundin, Kranulf and Girruk's assault. Girt popped off a quick shot that went right into the creature's eye, killing it before it hit the floor.

Karundin barked a laugh. "Not so tough," he bragged. But they all knew they had caught these Fel Orcs unarmed and unprepared.

Girt rolled her eyes at him and turned to thank Galain for saving her life. In a way, he saved it one more time. She ducked out of the way of his headless body as it toppled toward her, and the vicious swing that would have done the same to her missed completely.

She grabbed one of her grenades from her belt and pulled the cord, giving it a soft toss as she flipped a backwards somersault, landing on one knee. Somehow she managed to force the panicked scream escaping her lips into two words: "**_Behind_** ye!"

The words were punctuated by her grenade exploding in the midst of the Fel Orcs charging down the passage at them, and her three companions spun around instantly, finding a wall of enemies. It was impossible to tell whether Girruk had been wrong about the noise, or whether the effects of Galain's freezing spell were felt as far as the main hallway. Either way, the large patrol they had been trying to evade now had them cornered.

Gierta felt a ball of ice growing in her belly. They were not going to get out of here alive. Galain was already dead...no, not now. She reached out as if to pull them back to her as Karundin charged into the mass of Fel Orcs, Kranulf on his right side.

Girruk grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her roughly. "Don't ye give up now, damn ye! We'll get out of this yet!" Then he too turned to face the Orcs, his deadly swirl of blades covering Karundin's left flank.

Girt lifted her rifle, stroking the barrel affectionately. "He's right, ye know," she whispered to it. "We canna' give up, not ever." She gave the weapon a quick kiss before hefting it to eye level. "Now let's kill some o' these buggers."

She fired and fired, every shot striking home into a Fel Orc's flesh. And they kept coming. Girruk had been quite optimistic with his "perhaps" ten. There must have been more than twenty of the things coming at them! Kranulf's energy steadily waned as he tried to channel the Light's healing energies into Karundin while fending off the Orcs with his hammer. It wasn't enough. 'Run's shield broke into three pieces, and his left arm dropped limply to his side. Even so, he still managed to bury his axe into two more Fel Orc skulls before going down himself.

They had cut the Fel Orcs' numbers almost in half, but for a moment it looked as if they would be overcome. Exhausted, all Kranulf could do was swing his mighty hammer back and forth in a wide arc in front of him, breaking any limb that came in its path. Girruk slashed and stabbed, but soon received a blow to the back of his leg that brought him to the floor.

But if anything, Gierta's slugs came faster after she saw Karundin fall. Not even pausing to take aim anymore, the edge of her rifle's barrel started taking on a dull red glow as shot after shot hit home, almost every other one a kill. When no more than five attackers remained, they turned to flee. None made it more than ten steps.

For a long moment Gierta and Kranulf both remained frozen, the Paladin with his hammer raised and the Huntress still on one knee with her rifle ready, neither one quite believing it was over. Then Girruk groaned as he dragged himself to his feet, and Kranulf lowered his hammer, slumping against the wall and sliding the opposite direction. Gierta set her rifle down and lowered her head, supporting herself with her hands as she caught her breath.

"Let's go," Girruk said, limping slightly.

Girt snapped her head up to look at him. "_What_?"

"We have to get going, Gierta."

"Are ye crazy? We canna' leave them!" Her gesture swept over the forms of Galain and Karundin, one decapitated and the other broken and bloody.

"We can and must, Girt. I do no like it any more than ye, but we just canna' wait for Kranulf to get the energy to raise them."

"Yer _jokin_'!" Gierta bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling.

"We were lucky here, Girt, but what do ye think our chances would be, even with them Raised and all of us rested and ready, against fify of them?"

Gierta shook her head stubbornly.

"A hundred? The whole damn place?"

Girt squeezed her eyes shut. "We can't..." she whimpered.

"Move yer arse, girl! If ye don't get that map of yers in Trollbane's hands, all this will have been fer nothin'!"

"Just a little while, Girruk, and Kranulf can..."

"There's _no time_, Girt! Now _I'm_ leavin', whether yer with me or not!"

He heard Gierta's voice, disbelieving at first. "Now Girruk..." Then worried. "Girruk? 'Ruk, wait." And finally desperate. "Girruk, don't leave! _Girruk_!

"Girruk, _help_ me!"

An odd note in Gierta's voice with that last shout made him turn and look back. Girt was on her feet, rifle slung over her shoulder, both hands gripping one of Kranulf's in a vain attempt to get him up and moving. Girruk went back and grabbed Kranulf's other hand with a wry grin. Together they hauled the weary Paladin to his feet, Girt wrapping his right arm around her shoulders and Girruk doing the same on his left.

"Urgh, ye can let me go, I'm all right now," Kranulf grumbled. The other two, of course, completely ignored him.

Girruk hesitated when they got to the main hallway, but Girt pushed on, turning to their right. "Not going to check yer map, Girt?"

"I donna' need a bloody map. That's fer all the high muckety-mucks to study in their comfy chairs behind their stone walls. Bah!"

"Look, Gierta, I really am sorry we..."

She cut him off with a curt "Save it fer the reports."

They continued their slow, defeated shuffle down the hallway, Kranulf's steps coming more quickly, until finally the entrance they had used was in sight.

"There it is, boys! Now we..."

Suddenly the hall itself seemed to hurl them all into the air and bounce them off the walls.

Gierta's world was completely black, a loud ringing in her ears. Her eyes opened to a swirl of greys, blacks, yellows and oranges. Slowly the inside of Hellfire Citadel took shape before her eyes. She was flat on her back, she soon discovered, arms and legs spread out like a rag-doll. She tried to move, but her muscles were having none of it. Her whole body felt like jelly. The ringing in her ears finally started to subside, replaced by a familiar voice.

"...trap of some kind. Looks like ol' Kranulf took the worst of it. Not sure if he's breathin'. Are ye...are ye injured there, Girt? Nothin' but a few scrapes and bruises here..."

Gierta tried to tell Girruk to shut his yap, but all that came out was a weak groan.

"Ah, yer alive! All's well, then. I'll see ye through this, Girt..." He stopped as she suddenly sat up, as if waking from a nightmare, with a shout that contained all the horrors of the past few hours. She stared for a moment with unseeing eyes, then started to see shapes moving along in the darkness behind Girruk. She grabbed at his arm, missing badly. "Girruk, they're coming. Take the map, 'Ruk. Save yerself!"

"Shhh, shush now Girt. I'll get ye out of this, I promise. Together, we'll..."

His mouth dropped open, any further words forgotten as a headless, limbless corpse of a Fel Orc sailed through the air and hit the wall next to them with a loud, wet smack. The thing's blood sprayed over them like rain.

Girt could see the force of a dozen or so Fel Orcs turn their backs to her to face this new threat. Her mind screamed at her to do something, but she could only stare numbly at the scene playing out before her. The hall seemed colder somehow. At first she thought it was her imagination, but then she noticed that all the Orcs were shivering as if in a fever. One even bent over and vomited on the floor.

Girruk seemed to be frozen in place. "What in the...?"

Gierta thought she saw sparks flying through the air as the Fel Orcs in front of her died one by one. Blood seemed to be spurting everywhere. Finally she caught a glimpse of a figure covered head-to-toe in dark, bluish-black armor, wielding an axe with a blade bigger than its head. That blade glowed in a dozen different places - those etchings must have been the "sparks" she'd been seeing. The creature's axe relentlessly carved up every Orc in its path, the weapon's long spikes gouging deep wounds in red flesh with each backswing. Girt could see her own breath as the figure drew near, blood caking every inch of the figure's blade and almost covering its dark armor as well.

Finally only the two Dwarves remained with the armored figure in the hallway, and it stopped to examine them. Gierta could see an eerie blue glow in the depths of the creature's helmet. It said not a word as it lifted its axe to point at Girruk.

Girruk swallowed, drawing his weapons, and Girt screamed as she realized the armored figure was going to attack him. She fumbled for her rifle as the figure reached out with its other hand to send some dark power into Girruk's chest, doubling him over momentarily. He choked for a few moments, while the armored figure made another gesture, the air around them growing even colder. Girruk shivered violently, just as the Orcs had, and then the mighty axe blade swung.

Despite his sudden illness, he managed to parry that blow, and dodge several more as the armored figure advanced. Gierta finally got a good grip on her rifle, but just as she raised it to take aim the armored figure's axe easily parried an attempted counterattack from Girruk and struck him, opening him from throat to pelvis. As he fell, the figure turned to face her and...

...did nothing.

Gierta's hands were shaking so hard from both rage and fear that she couldn't even find her trigger. "Come on, then!" The figure did not move. "I ain't afraid o' ye!"

The figure turned its head slightly as the sound of yet more Fel Orcs filled the hallway behind it, and Gierta turned to run. She hadn't got very far, though, before black tendrils of shadow wrapped around her like tentacles, lifting her in the air and yanking her backward, dropping her directly in front of the armored figure and disappearing like mist. The handle of the creature's weapon flashed out in a blur, catching Girt right above the left knee. She stumbled, too stunned to cry out as the sound of breaking bone filled her ears. Her head hit the floor and she spat out a mouthful of blood, but she hardly noticed as she struggled to lift her upper body up off the floor.

The hallway spun around her as she squirmed around to look at the scene of slaughter, heedless of the pain shooting up her leg. She knew she wouldn't be able to stay conscious much longer, but she grabbed at three images of her rifle anyway, missing several times before finally closing her fingers around it. The sound of dying Fel Orcs seemed a distant nightmare as she tried to lift her weapon, but it felt as heavy as an anvil. Almost immediately it slipped through her numbing fingers and clattered back to the floor. Abruptly the silence hit her, and she looked up to see the armored figure poking at Kranulf with the handle of its weapon. She knew before it even turned back to her that her one opportunity to kill the thing, or at least hurt it, had been lost.

It grabbed her by the collar, lifting her just a little. But even that small movement wrenched a gasp of pain from her as her broken leg shifted. The last thing she saw was a plate-armored fist coming at her in a blur.


	4. 4: Soulgrip

Gierta woke to find herself snuggled in a warm bed by a fire. She lifted her head, and noticed what appeared at first glance to be a jungle - all shapes and colors of flowers, from common to extremely exotic, formed more bouquets than her sleepy brain cared to try counting. She sat up, blinking away a bit of dizziness, and there was Kranulf, rising in a start from his seat by her bed.

"Girt, you're awake! Thank the Light!"

"Kran, you're...alive?"

"Aye, lucky break, that..."

She leaned forward, grabbing his arm. "What about Galain? Karundin?"

Kranulf puffed a deep breath out through his great braided moustaches. "They didna' make it, ol' girl."

Gierta swallowed, her voice very faint as she asked. "Girruk?"

"Girt, there were many things goin' on we didna' realize at the time..."

"IS HE DEAD," Gierta shouted at her best friend.

"Aye, Gierta. He most certainly is that."

She flopped back onto her pillows as if the news had snatched the life back out of her. Tears trickled out the corners of her eyes. "Oh Kranulf..." She fought back a sob. "I'm _so_ sorry..."

Kranulf waved his arms, clearly embarrassed. "Hey, hey, none o' that now! We all knew our time would be up sooner or later, and most likely sooner. Besides, Girruk..."

He was interrupted by the door to the cozy room opening. A tall, thin Night Elf woman with green hair, dressed in flowing robes, entered and stepped softly to Gierta's bedside opposite Kranulf. "Finally awake," she said cheerfully. "Excellent!"

A Draenei woman entered as the Night Elf spoke, strikingly deep blue skin contrasting with her brown hair, her elegant horns curving and swooping away from her face. "Does she remember anything useful?"

"Useful!" Kranulf's bushy brows drew down. "We never knew anything to begin with!"

"Please," the Draenei priestess smiled charmingly. "I did not mean to push. The whole affair has been rather...vexing...for all involved."

"Do not let them excite you, Gierta. You still need your rest." The Night Elf shot warning glares at the other two as she said this. "In any case, I am Erialde. This is Virleesa, and you have more in common with her than you probably realize. And you, Gierta, are quite the hero of the moment." She gestured toward the mountain of flowers. "The story of your ordeal in Hellfire Citadel has been spreading rapidly among the Acolytes in the Temple."

"Bloody pile's five times as big as mine," Kranulf muttered.

" I tried not to snoop," Erialde went on with a bemused smile stealing across her face, "but I could not help noticing that many of those greetings seem to include proposals of marriage." Gierta blushed a bit at that.

Virleesa's eyebrows drew down in slight disapproval. "Not all of those proposals appear to be written by a male hand, either."

Kranulf grinned. "Oh, aye? And was one o' them yers then, Virleesa?"

The Draenei's face tightened. "_What_?"

Gierta shook her fist at him. "_Aye_, I'm sure ye'd _like_ t'see _that_ ye dirty ol'..."

"_Anyway,_" Erialde interjected, "I was only trying to say that you have many friends here in the Temple, Gierta."

"Temple?" Gierta frowned. "Temple of Telhamat?"

"Yes..." Erialde hesitated as Gierta snarled and clenched her fists.

"Oh, _now_ they give aid...!"

"Now listen, you little runt..." That, startlingly, was Virleesa. Kranulf started bellowing about no one speaking to his "ol' girl" in such a way, and soon Erialde was rubbing her eyes as a shouting match went on in front of her. Just when she was afraid she'd have to do something drastic, she noticed Gierta's face turn as white as one of her sheets. The other two quickly quieted as they noticed the same thing. "What is it, Gierta?"

"Outside...the armor! Am I seein' things now?"

"Armor?"

Gierta grabbed Erialde's collar and yanked her down so far their noses touched. "It'll kill everyone!"

"Girt ol' girl, ye got to listen to us now." Kranulf slowly eased Gierta's hand from Erialde's robe.

"Light's mercy," Virleesa breathed, "she thinks it is an enemy!"

Girt frowned at her so hard she took a step back. "These Death Knights are not what you might think, Gierta..."

"Damn and blast it all, she donna' even know about Girruk yet! I was about to tell her when ye came in with all yer yammerin' about flowers!"

"Ah," Erialde nodded sadly, smoothing her rumpled robes.

Virleesa had the grace to blush, her cheecks glowing with a purplish hue. "My apologies, Gierta."

Gierta gave scowls out to the three of them in equal measure. "_What_ don't I know about Girruk?"

Virleesa patted her horns self-consciously. "Gierta, I was sent out that day to assist you in your mission. The time I left here would have brought me to the location you'd specified to Gunny well before the appointed time."

Gierta folded her arms. "We never saw ye."

"There is reason for that," the Draenei responded dryly. "I was ambushed."

"Fel Orcs?" The words were weak but hopeful.

"The attacker struck from the shadows behind me, but as I lay dying I saw a Dwarf, whistling as he walked away."

"_Dying_?"

"Yes, dying. If not for the agent the Temple dispatched late to see if you needed additional assistance, my body would probably lie there still. What would be left of it by now, anyway."

Gierta stirred again, but Virleesa hurried on to avoid interruption. "The Dwarf I saw matches the description of the one you refer to as Girruk. Gierta...I'm sorry you have to hear it this way."

"**No**!" Her hands groped for something to throw at these vile creatures spouting their terrible lies. "No, it was _not_ my Girruk!"

Kranulf winced. "Now Gierta..."

She rounded on him in a fury. "How can ye believe them, Kranulf? _How_?"

"The agent they sent..."

"What agent? What's _he_ got to do with anything? Did he _see_ anything Girruk supposedly did?"

The three around Gierta's bed shared a long look. Finally Kranulf said, "Perhaps ye'd like to talk to the agent yerself?"

"Ye damn right I would!"

Erialde went to the door and made a motion for someone to enter as Gierta went on. "Why I, or any of you, should take _his_ word fer..." Gierta's torrent of words suddenly stopped, as if she had forgotten she was speaking.

A figure in dark, bluish-black armor strode into the room, taking the steps to the foot of Gierta's bed in total silence except for the clanking of its plated boots. Gierta would have assumed that it would look less frightening in a cozy, well-lit bedroom than it had in a dark, hostile corridor. She would have been wrong. Spikes seemed to cover every inch of the thing's armor, with long menacing horns jutting out from the helmet like fangs. The eerie blue glow Gierta remembered in the depths of its helmet was still there.

For several moments Gierta and the armored figure stared at each other. Then Erialde said, "We should leave them alone for now."

"So," said Gierta after they left. "Yer a 'Death Knight'."

The figure nodded. "Knight of the Ebon Blade, blood division." It spoke in a female voice so coldly hollow, it seemed to echo within itself.

_"Blood_ division? So yer specialty is blood, is it?" Gierta thought she was being sarcastic, but the reply that came was almost gleeful. "Oh yes."

Gierta remembered the headless, limbless corpse showering her with its blood, and how each stroke of this creature's axe had seemed specially placed to spill as much blood as possible. Suddenly thankful she'd had nothing to eat since waking, she realized she was not likely to enjoy learning any more on this subject. But she was hardly going to let herself be intimidated so easily. "Creatures of the Undead Scourge, Death Knights are. No? Servants of the Lich King an' all that?"

"No."

"No? What d'ye mean no? Why not?"

"There was a great battle." The armored figure flexed its hands. "At Light's Hope Chapel. The Highlord Tirion Fordring appeared."

Gierta had been to Light's Hope once or twice. Right in the middle of the most Scourge-infested area of the former kingdom of Lordaeron, it somehow remained uncorrupted due to some holy power she did not understand.

"We were...defeated." Clearly this was a difficult concept for the creature to grasp, much less admit, even now. "We hear the Lich King no more."

Gierta frowned, startled to realize just at that moment that the figure stood no higher from the ground than she did herself. "So they trust ye. All right then. What's all this nonsense about Girruk then?"

"The Dwarf named 'Girruk' was an agent, for Illidan Stormrage or for the demons. Evidence of plans to arrange the death of all in your party, including the Paladin, was found. And plans to bring you to his Demonic master."

"What evidence?"

"Eyewitness account of the Draenei priestess."

"Pshaw!"

"Signals I saw him giving to the Fel Orcs."

"Ye weren't there yet."

"I was. But discounting that, from what the Paladin said Girruk's hand in your defeat is logical, if not obvious. Who chose the point of entry?"

Gierta stubbornly shook her head.

"Who said falsely that sounds in the bunkroom would not reach the Main Hallway?"

Gierta cursed.

"Who set the trap you triggered while trying to leave? Intended to kill the Paladin, and nearly did. You know this. That is why you fight against it."

Gierta tried to control her voice, even as she felt her face growing red as a sunset. "If yer going to have the gall to make such wild accusations, I'll at least have yer name!"

Gierta could have sworn a note of bitter amusement entered the hollow voice. "Before my will was...restored, I was called 'Soulgrip.'"

"Eh?"

"I was once a priest. It amused the Lich King to remind us."

"Remind ye of what you were? Isn't that kinda counter-productive?"

"Remind us of how such noble callings can be twisted."

"And so ye keep the name, even now?"

The monstrous shoulder-plates lifted in a shrug. "The other is dead. Soulgrip is all that is left."

Gierta shivered as she peered into the glowing blue helmet. Was that the armor producing that glowing blue effect, or...? "Would ye remove yer helmet?"

"No."

"Please, I...I want to see the eyes of Girruk's accuser."

"They are dead eyes."

"Then what have ye got to hide in 'em?"

The creature stared at her, silent and still for so long that Gierta started to wonder if it had at last decided to kill her, in spite of everything. Then it lifted its hands to its head.

The helmet came off slowly, as if a part of the Death Knight's body was being removed. Gierta tried not to shudder as she saw first a pale, lifeless chin. Then cold blue lips were revealed, followed by a soft button nose and round, full cheeks as pale as the rest of its skin. Finally the eyes were uncovered, and Girt could not help shrinking back from the unholy blue light that blazed in them. As the Death Knight tucked the helmet under its arm, it gave a slight shake of its head, flipping a long blonde ponytail over its shoulder.

Gierta leaned back against the wall, thunderstruck. She almost would have preferred a hateful frown to the total lack of expression that faced her, as if awaiting pronouncement of doom.

"Marta," she whispered.

The Death Knight did frown, then. "You must not see her."

"But...but how...?"

"A great many of us who resisted Arthas in Lordaeron were made so." Her lips twisted wryly. "Perhaps I should be flattered, to have been a great enough enemy to warrant such punishment."

Gierta simply hung her head and wept like a little girl.


	5. 5: Earth and Stone

On a hill overlooking the sea just south of Dun Garok, two wandering figures stopped to admire the view. The smaller of the two stooped to pluck some flowers out of the ground.

"What I still don't understand," Gierta was saying, "is why ye had to go breakin' me leg. Was it necessary?"

"Yes," Soulgrip replied.

"Why?"

"I could hardly let you go running off into even _more_ trouble."

"And the conk on the noggin? What was _that_ for?"

"Your convenience."

"My _what_?"

"You would never have gone with me willingly under the circumstances. After you tried to run, I understood that. I _do _remember what it was like to be alive, you know."

Met with such impeccable logic, Gierta naturally changed the subject. "Gonna bring some flowers, Marta? They'll like that."

"You _must not_ call me that." Soulgrip's cold, hollow voice managed to sound full of weary resignation. _Even now_, she thought, _she still always gets her way_. It was almost enough to make a Death Knight laugh. As she bent on one knee to examine the flowers, a strange feeling stole over her. Her hand caressed the plant like an old, dear friend. Her fingers found the spot they were looking for, bending the stem just so. Her other hand gently plucked the blossom from the stem, careful not to damage it. She had done this often before, when she'd been alive. Soulgrip twirled the flower in her hand. What a strange feeling, to be haunted by oneself.

"Look, if you'd rather not visit with me, we can do this another time."

"No," Soulgrip said firmly. She quickly picked a small handful of flowers, managing to find a fair variety of colors. "We will visit them now. Together."

As they crested the hill, a cluster of three graves came into view. Soulgrip hung back a little, but Gierta ran up to them immediately. She knelt in front of the center grave, laying the flowers down on the ground in front of it.

"Papa," she said to the blank stone in the middle. "Mama," to the stone on the right, and "Junior," to the one on the left. Their brother had been named Dirrik, after their father, and Soulgrip felt a small twinge of affection for her little sister, that she would include him despite never really having known him.

Girt fussed with her tied-back hair as she went on. "I'm sorry I havna' stopped by more, but I brought someone I hope ye'll be glad is here." She bit her lip for a moment. "I suppose nothing really worked out the way ye expected, now. But...but I think ye'd be proud of her anyway." With that, she hung her head in silence.

Soulgrip stepped forward, dividing her flowers evenly to place on each grave marker, but said nothing. Speaking to the dead the way Gierta had, in her present condition, might be pushing the bounds of decency too far. She was not sure what she would have said, anyway. Gierta would one day take her place here beside them, amidst the earth and stone where she belonged, but Soulgrip doubted she herself would ever be granted such peace, even if she found a way to end this wretched existence.

She noticed Girt's shoulders heaving silently, and wondered if similar thoughts were on her mind. She stepped forward, awkwardly placing a hand on Gierta's shoulder. Girt immediately clutched the hand of what was once her sister and smiled up at her gratefully through her tears.

Soulgrip felt another flash of emotion, though naturally (or rather, _un_naturally) her face gave no sign of it. This time it was pride, at seeing Girt smile in such a distressing moment. She did not think Marta would have handled herself nearly so well, had their fates been switched. Perhaps, if nothing else, that was something she could thank the Light for.

"Promise me, Marta." Gierta turned back to the graves. "Promise ye'll never leave me."

_Again_, Soulgrip finished in her mind. Her instinct was to refuse, but she remembered from her life as a priest how much comfort such empty promises gave to troubled hearts.

"I promise," she said.

The End


End file.
